


drowning inside our hearts

by goldstraw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied Child Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstraw/pseuds/goldstraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne was too fragile for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drowning inside our hearts

Brienne tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and bent down slightly to say the name of the reservation to the young waitress.

The girl, cool with dark bored eyes, had looked her up and down and smirked even before Brienne had spoken. Now, she could barely stifle a laugh, questioning this giant, ugly woman’s right to be there, to say that name—

_Lannister._

Brienne was too fragile for this. She was late because a patient had died and she’d had to break the news to his relatives. Their tears and sobs still rattled around her head, haunting her, reminding her. She didn’t have the strength to just wash away the looks, their hurtful implications as she might have done before. Instead, they sunk into her skin, tainting her blood with doubt and self-loathing. She twisted the burnished gold ring on her finger round and round. She said her surname again, weary.

The waitress shrugged and glided between tables too close together to allow Brienne to follow her without bumping into edges and chairs and diners, who took no care to silence their criticism. She even heard one ask, quite outright as was if Brienne were not right next to them, whether she was a woman or a man. She flinched from each touch and word, no reserve of anger or indifference to shield her.

She watched blindly as Jaime pressed his hand to her hip, barely felt his cheek, rough with stubble, brush up against hers— but heard too loud the titters as she became a freakshow to their audience, laughing at their disparity. Retreat, every cell in her called, retreat to dark silence where no-one looked and no-one cared. She sat heavily into her chair.

Jaime crooked his head, trying to catch her eye. She flicked her gaze up, saw troubled green and dipped back down, guilt now hot and itchy in her flesh.

“Are you alright?” asked Jaime, as straightforward as ever.

“Yes.”

He scoffed, still frustrated by her intractability even now, but not wanting to contradict her, pressed his lips together and swallowed his words.

She owed him everything. She raised her eyes, finding unbearable comfort in his face. Silver threaded in the gold, neat hair brushed away from a face with more lines than when she first saw it, snarling and wounded, hissing and biting at anyone who dared touch him in his pain.

“I’m just tired. Bad day at work. Sorry I’m late.”

His manner shifted, a subtlety that she wanted to reach out to and pat down, to push it away so that she could put on a front for him, just once. She didn’t want to be a burden. This was supposed to be a treat for him.

He frowned. “We can go?”

“ _No_ — you’ve waited ages to come here.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She bit her lip, shaking her head. “It does matter. It does.”

“Not if you’re not up to it.”

His hand covered hers again and suddenly her eyes were full of stinging tears. She lifted her other hand over her face, trying not to burst.

“ _Brienne—“_ His chair scraped back and he was by her. He pulled her close and she clung to him, tears soaking into his suit jacket. His fingers scraped through her hair, his stump on her cheek, warmth and strength given willingly, unselfishly. She never wanted to let go— the firm muscles of his back where her hands spread wildly was her defence against everything.

She drew in a ragged breath and pulled away, palms scraping across her cheeks. “I’m s-s-sorry—“ she sobbed.

“Let’s go.” He offered his hand.

She tried to shake her head, but Jaime knew better. “You need to go home and rest.”

She swallowed, taking his advice after a hesitation. He wouldn’t let go as they weaved their way out of the restaurant, fingers laced, bound together.

She sucked in the cold air outside. Jaime was hailing a cab. The hate at letting him down, at letting it all get to her choked her lungs, making her panic. It was overwhelmingly easy to drown these days; she didn’t want to be out in this harsh world anymore where all she got was pummelled and pushed and forced to say things that made people cry and why hadn’t she saved him— why hadn’t she— _why_?

Jaime was guiding her into the car; hand at the small of her back. She felt heavy and woolly, more clumsy than usual. She closed her eyes, feeling relief in the blackness.

She didn’t remember getting home, or into the bathroom with its bright lights stinging her eyes. There was steam; the taps had just stopped after running furiously. Jaime was in front of her, gently guiding her arms through her jumper, struggling with her trouser buttons for a moment before pushing her to sit on the edge of the bath while he pulled the jeans off. He looked so serious as he gazed up at her in her greying, mis-matched underwear. He’d taken his jacket off, rolled up his shirt sleeves— she frowned, trying to concentrate on him. He kissed her outreached hand, nudging her palm with his nose.

“Jaime—“ she mumbled.

“I knew it was too early for you to go back to work.”

“It’s been months.”

He looked down and sighed. “There wasn’t any rush—“

“You’re at work and I just rattle around here. At least the hospital— I’m so busy I can’t think. It’s too quiet here without—” she stopped, choking. _Her boy. Her little boy._

She saw his grief rise up; crashing through the front he tried to put on. His expressive eyes were as bruised and dull, as drowned in sadness as they had been when the doctor had slowly walked up to them in A&E, mouth thinned, giving that finite shake of his head. Her face crumpled at the pain. She dropped to his level, kneeling opposite him with cold tiles scalding her legs. Her fingers passed over his skin in light, frantic movements until Jaime caught her hands and pressed them to his face. They breathed unevenly, forehead to forehead.

“Oh god—“ she keened. “I can’t bear it. I can’t. Why did he have to—” she couldn’t say the word as she sobbed. “It hurts so much. Here.” She pushed his hand to her chest, wanting him to tear out her heart. He pulled it back, onto his own chest, as if to say _me too, me too._

“Let me go, Jaime,” she whispered, her nose blocked, throat tight. “I only ruin everything.”

“Never, darling.” She recognised well that tone. He wanted to shake her up, shake the ridiculousness out of her, but she couldn’t think of how to do it, not this time. “Come on,” he ordered. “The water is getting cold. You’re cold.” His hand and skin were already pressed into her arms and waist, drawing her up before she had time to protest. They stripped her underwear with quick movements; it wasn’t the time for games.

The shocking heat of the water made her shiver before she slid in, skin pinking in the steam, bumpy knees making isles in the rippled surface. She took a deep breath and let the water close in over her. Blessed silence soothed her, the heat numbing her skin. It had crossed her mind that this was how death might feel; a final relief from thought and feeling, torment put to bed. Her lungs were starting to protest, but she made herself hold on for just a few seconds longer. Jaime’s hand was suddenly cradling the back of her head and she let herself float back up into the aching air. Living was her punishment and she knew it.

“How do you stand it?” she asked desperately, to the tiles and the water and her husband perched on the edge of the bath.

He looked down at her, careworn but careful. He’d been so quiet and withdrawn in his grief, others might have said he wasn’t affected but she had seen the creases deepen, the lively, funny, teasing spark at his core flicker into almost nothing.

Jaime sighed. “I don’t know… you’re here— I couldn’t do it without you.”

She snapped her head up towards him, distress scarring her gaze. “Me? _Me?!_ ” Her broad hands clenched under water. “Don’t come out with things like that— I should have done something—I should have saved him—“

Jaime clenched her shoulder hard enough to make the words catch in her mouth. “Stop it,” he said darkly. “It was an accident and you know it was. I know you’re wrenched apart by guilt; but it was a completely random, inexplicable accident.” His words came so forcefully, they ricocheted round the bathroom, echoing against the tiles. She could feel his anger in his fingertips. “Fuck, it’s all the proof I need that no-one is looking out for us, and I hate myself that I couldn’t, still can’t protect you against this unfairness—“ He slipped back down on to his knees, hand pushing away tendrils of her sopping hair, his eyes wrought with bitterness. “Unfairness against the person— _you!_ — who deserves it least of all.”

Her heart seemed to bruise her ribs it was beating so fast. “Don’t hate yourself,” she said after a long moment.

“I won’t, if you won’t.”

"I'll try."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Deal?" he asked, with emphasis.

“Deal.”

She wrapped her arms around him, as he nestled into her neck. "Hmm, you smell just like he used to afterwards, clean and soft.” He spoke quite normally, as if it were a memory like any other.

She smiled sadly at the thought. It made sense that Jaime would remember that: he had done bathtime most evenings – managing to both clasp their wriggling son and still creating intricate, joyful adventures with plastic toys. She, in turn, headily remembered the sweet sultry smell of his hair after his afternoon nap, breathed in with long gulps as he grumbled and yawned. She couldn’t, wouldn’t forget it.

Brienne stepped out of the bath, water droplets making her skin glisten before Jaime wrapped her in a towel, and with him by her side, they walked out and towards their bed.

 


End file.
